Old Ways [1/?]
anonymous
May 22 2009, 01:31:21 UTC
Canada said nothing, but Russia took this as consent to help. He’d already put as much water as he could fit on the stove, so he grabbed a kitchen knife.
“Hold still,” said Russia. He hadn’t had to do this for anyone in a long time - once Ukraine, once Liet, once Estonia, and five times Latvia, the foolish boy.
But for some reason he’d expected better of Canada, and even more so he’d expected him to hold still when he was told to do so. Warm blood - at least it was warm - ran off the tip of the knife and down the boot.
“I said hold still,” muttered Russia, but he managed to nick the edge of the leather and tear it down Canada’s leg. The other boot was so contracted that the second nick was inevitable.
The water steamed on the stove, and the further down Canada’s leg Russia looked, the bluer the skin became. Russia just hoped that he could save the toes. He had not realized how important toes were until his were gone, how they were used for balance, for jumping, for running, and how the lack of them had turned him into a huge, lumbering figure.
But Russia’s problems had happened because there were not enough boots one winter. If Canada would lose anything, why would it happen?
“Ah, so you must have gotten lost,” said Russia, imagining what would have possibly brought Canada there. At first, he imagined Canada accidentally traversing far too much wilderness, but then something more logical crossed his mind.
“Or was it Ukraine?” Russia pulled the pots off of the stove and tested the temperature, making sure it wasn’t too hot. Not hot, he remembered, warm, because too hot would be too much of a shock. He cursed softly and set the pots on the countertop to cool before putting more water on the stove. “Did something happen?”
Canada said nothing, but he was beginning to shake, a sign of recovery.
“Were you looking for my sister?” asked Russia again. He returned to Canada in the kitchen. The caked-on ice was melting, now, soaking through, so while one pot was heating up and the others were cooling down, Russia searched the house for dry blankets and towels, anything that would keep Canada warm.
“You are too far east, then,” said Russia, patting Canada’s face dry. He unstuck the curl from Canada’s face, and tried to melt as much ice as possible to remove Canada’s glasses, as not to tear the skin on his nose and ears. Then he set the towel over Canada’s head and set off to peel off the half-drenched, half-frozen clothing.
There was no response from Canada. No response except shaking, anyway, and at this stage the shaking was the deep, involuntary sort, the kind that had settled deep into Latvia’s bones a long time ago. Perhaps Canada couldn’t, or perhaps he didn’t have an answer. That was all right, for now.
The blood he began to find was not all right, though, when at first Russia thought that Canada’s coat had just been torn and frayed. Two scratches crossed Canada’s side, and it looked to be from an animal. Russia took one of the cleaner-looking towels and wrapped it around Canada, unsure of what to take care of first.
The toes, he decided, the toes and the fingers, because from what he could tell the worst of the bloodloss was over. He took the pot off the stove, and took the cooled water and set it on the floor, dipping each foot into its own saucepan. The newly-heated water was not too hot yet, so he set a quilt on Canada’s lap and then put the pot on top, setting Canada’s hands inside. A shadow crept over the hands, though, and Russia saw Canada leaning forward, eyes closed, mouth hanging open.
“No, no,” said Russia, “You can’t sleep.” He slapped at Canada’s cheek a bit, and Canada’s eyes opened just a sliver. “I know it hurts, but you must stay awake.”
It had been a long time since Russia had had to deal with so much on a man at once. The wound or the frostbite he’d be able to take care of, but both together might mean that Canada was going into shock. Russia thought briefly about taking Canada to a hospital, but promptly remembered that would not be any better.
Hospitals asked questions, and Russia didn’t like questions. No, Russia decided, Canada would just have to stay there, and Russia would just have to heal the boy himself.
“Hold still,” said Russia. He hadn’t had to do this for anyone in a long time - once Ukraine, once Liet, once Estonia, and five times Latvia, the foolish boy.
But for some reason he’d expected better of Canada, and even more so he’d expected him to hold still when he was told to do so. Warm blood - at least it was warm - ran off the tip of the knife and down the boot.
“I said hold still,” muttered Russia, but he managed to nick the edge of the leather and tear it down Canada’s leg. The other boot was so contracted that the second nick was inevitable.
The water steamed on the stove, and the further down Canada’s leg Russia looked, the bluer the skin became. Russia just hoped that he could save the toes. He had not realized how important toes were until his were gone, how they were used for balance, for jumping, for running, and how the lack of them had turned him into a huge, lumbering figure.
But Russia’s problems had happened because there were not enough boots one winter. If Canada would lose anything, why would it happen?
“Ah, so you must have gotten lost,” said Russia, imagining what would have possibly brought Canada there. At first, he imagined Canada accidentally traversing far too much wilderness, but then something more logical crossed his mind.
“Or was it Ukraine?” Russia pulled the pots off of the stove and tested the temperature, making sure it wasn’t too hot. Not hot, he remembered, warm, because too hot would be too much of a shock. He cursed softly and set the pots on the countertop to cool before putting more water on the stove. “Did something happen?”
Canada said nothing, but he was beginning to shake, a sign of recovery.
“Were you looking for my sister?” asked Russia again. He returned to Canada in the kitchen. The caked-on ice was melting, now, soaking through, so while one pot was heating up and the others were cooling down, Russia searched the house for dry blankets and towels, anything that would keep Canada warm.
“You are too far east, then,” said Russia, patting Canada’s face dry. He unstuck the curl from Canada’s face, and tried to melt as much ice as possible to remove Canada’s glasses, as not to tear the skin on his nose and ears. Then he set the towel over Canada’s head and set off to peel off the half-drenched, half-frozen clothing.
There was no response from Canada. No response except shaking, anyway, and at this stage the shaking was the deep, involuntary sort, the kind that had settled deep into Latvia’s bones a long time ago. Perhaps Canada couldn’t, or perhaps he didn’t have an answer. That was all right, for now.
The blood he began to find was not all right, though, when at first Russia thought that Canada’s coat had just been torn and frayed. Two scratches crossed Canada’s side, and it looked to be from an animal. Russia took one of the cleaner-looking towels and wrapped it around Canada, unsure of what to take care of first.
The toes, he decided, the toes and the fingers, because from what he could tell the worst of the bloodloss was over. He took the pot off the stove, and took the cooled water and set it on the floor, dipping each foot into its own saucepan. The newly-heated water was not too hot yet, so he set a quilt on Canada’s lap and then put the pot on top, setting Canada’s hands inside. A shadow crept over the hands, though, and Russia saw Canada leaning forward, eyes closed, mouth hanging open.
“No, no,” said Russia, “You can’t sleep.” He slapped at Canada’s cheek a bit, and Canada’s eyes opened just a sliver. “I know it hurts, but you must stay awake.”
It had been a long time since Russia had had to deal with so much on a man at once. The wound or the frostbite he’d be able to take care of, but both together might mean that Canada was going into shock. Russia thought briefly about taking Canada to a hospital, but promptly remembered that would not be any better.
Hospitals asked questions, and Russia didn’t like questions. No, Russia decided, Canada would just have to stay there, and Russia would just have to heal the boy himself.
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This also looks glorious! The writing is really great, and I'm really wondering what happened to Canada. I hope you update soon!
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I completely agree with OP. This fill looks fantastic already. <3
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Everything about this is so much wiin! Don't leave me hanging anon!
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